


Begin Again

by ShrugEmoji



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/F, Feels, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Series, Romance, Root is Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShrugEmoji/pseuds/ShrugEmoji
Summary: “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”—George Eliot





	Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in the hopes of cheering up a dear friend and making her smile, as a present of sorts. And another lovely friend dared me to post it publicly. I said that if AO3 allowed me to have the shrug emoji as a username, I would do it. Alas, it didn't. But the alternative still was enough for me to just go oh what the hell. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

  
  
  
A gust of salty wind caresses her face and she takes a moment, allowing the calming gesture. 

It’s peaceful out here, she notes.

She can’t quite remember if it was this peaceful when she arrived a little less than forty eight hours ago. She can’t quite remember feeling anything then, much less this. The notion that this newfound sense of calm may have less to do with her geographical dispositions and more with the events of the last two days isn’t particularly lost on her, and for a brief second, she reaches behind her ear and lets her fingers ghost over the soft familiar patch of skin. 

She takes a deep breath, the smell of sea water reaching her as she approaches the lapping waves. It’s partly salty, partly sun-kissed, and she relishes it for a few seconds. Her fingers drop from their instinctive location, and her eyes travel across the ocean for a moment. 

The sound of Bear’s paws hitting the wet sand as he chases the waves in the near distance fills her ears. The unknown exotic birds she remembers chirping from earlier in the day have long departed for the evening, leaving behind a quiet that is far less unpleasant than the one she’s lived in for the last month. 

It feels peaceful out here now, and she knows why. 

She watches as Bear jumps in the distance, chasing the remnants of sunlight above the water, and lets a smile tug at her lips as he splashes into a coming wave. 

The air has cooled in the hours she’s spent in the murmurs of soft rustling sheets, the sun having descended perilously close to slumber in the horizon. Behind her, a series of lazy foot prints adorn the sand, tracing her path back up the secluded beach and to the steps of a dimly lit beach house.

She lets the breeze brush her long, messy hair off her shoulders, revealing the fading M.I.T. logo of the navy blue t-shirt she’s wearing in the process. It’s far too large for her petite frame, almost covering the entirety of the white shorts she slipped on as she stepped out of bed. 

If anyone asks, it was out of convenience, she’ll say. It was there, on the back of a chair, begging to be momentarily thieved. 

If no one asks, it’s a shirt she’ll cling to and claim for as long as she can, she knows. 

When and how she became this person, she has no idea. Somewhere amidst soft words, colorful elevators, desperate lips and seven thousand simulations, she became minutely aware of everything that tethers her to this world. 

Of her.

There’s a crack in her armor, and she’ll happily cover it up with the nerdiest of sleepwear if she has to. If the last six hundred and seventy two hours have taught her anything, it’s that there’s no gain in waiting until it’s too late to at least admit it to herself. 

Not that she’s counted, of course.

The quiet, careful shuffling of footsteps behind her quickly pulls her out of her contemplative state.

Shaw turns, seeing Root come to a comfortable stop a few feet away from her. She stands there, bare toes digging in the wet sand, her long baby blue pajamas pants carelessly getting soaked at the ends as it drags across the beach. Her loose black t-shirt briefly catches in the breeze as she takes the few remaining steps towards Shaw and stands beside her. Her right arm is casually draped across her abdomen, a loose hug of sorts for the wounds Shaw knows will haunt her long after they’ve healed. Her hair is messy in all the right ways, the fault evenly distributed between Shaw, the wind and a warm pillow. And despite the soft, barely-there smile on Root’s lips, her eyes hold the exhaustion of someone who has an entire lifetime of sleep to catch up on. 

Like this, Root looks somewhat precious. Fragile, perhaps. Young, even. 

Vulnerable, yet very much alive. 

And for a brief moment, Shaw catches herself thinking that it’s entirely possible Root has never looked more beautiful. It’s a rare look, but Shaw finds it’s one that gets her breath caught in her throat somehow. 

“It’s really nice out here at this hour,” Root says softly, eyes on the horizon, as she takes a deep breath.

Shaw swallows back the lump that’s quickly gravitated up her throat, eyes never leaving Root’s profile.

“Yeah,” she whispers. 

She almost wants to mentally slap herself. Almost. 

She shakes her head slightly, lets out a shaky breath and lowers her eyes to the sand for a moment. She watches her own toes curl and uncurl in the wetness, the feel cool and warm all at once on her skin. 

“It got quiet,” Root says, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Remembering the implant in Samaritan’s clutches, Shaw realizes how deep the meaning of that statement might run. There will be plenty of time to discuss the particulars of that statement later, she thinks to herself. 

Not now. 

Not in this moment.

She looks up just in time to see the ghost of a wince cross Root’s face.

“Are you okay?” she immediately asks. “You shouldn’t be…”

Protecting Root was the first identifiable feeling Shaw remembers admitting to herself, long ago. It came, like the precursor to an avalanche, and Shaw knows it’s an instinct that will most likely never go away. 

“I’m fine, Sameen,” Root smiles, turning to face her, and this time Shaw recognizes it even in the fading light. 

The yawning sun casts color on Root’s face that Shaw knows isn’t really there. It gives the illusion that the woman before her has spent that last few weeks vacationing in the tropics as opposed to narrowly escaping death. The pink and orange hues of the sky dance across her cheeks in a way that almost makes Shaw forget the pale shell underneath. 

Almost.

“Did we….I mean, did I…” Shaw stammers a bit, woefully aware of how terrible she is at this sort of thing. 

“You didn’t,” Root reassures. She tilts her head to the side, in that way that is so unmistakably hers. “You were very careful, sweetie.”

There’s playfulness in the way she gazes sideways at her, and Shaw is painfully aware of how that used to annoy her. In this very moment, however, she swears there’s nothing she’s ever been more relieved to witness.

It hits her hard and fast. 

Lately, these realizations have left her no second to breathe and leave her rather lost in them for a moment. 

She bows her head for a minute, wrapping her arms around herself. A breath she hadn’t known had been stuck somewhere deep inside escapes her. 

“Don’t want you pulling your stitches. That’s all…” she begins, clearing her throat, and then pauses for countless seconds, unsure if subsequent thoughts should even exist. “It was…” she lets the sentence hang for a few seconds.

“Different,” Root finishes, softly. As Shaw turns to look at her once more, she glimpses that familiar playfulness of old again, wandering across Root’s face. “ _Good_ different. I’m not complaining,” she adds, grinning through remnants of sleep.

For a brief second, Shaw is painfully aware of her own ineptitudes. She’s never been good at following the pre-determined sequences of events often dictated by social norms, whether it be in moments of grief or in those of what she assumes would pass as joy. Perhaps the sequence of events and emotions through which she’s navigated in the last few days would baffle most. 

But in this moment, in this light, with this breath, she’s reminded of one thing. 

_She always felt that’s what made you beautiful._

Root’s never been baffled by Shaw’s order of things. In fact, the majority of their time together could be described as relishing every uncertain and mismatched second of it.

So what if this conversation probably should’ve taken place before other things. That would’ve been uncharacteristically boring. 

“Yeah, well,” Shaw rolls her eyes. “Can’t find out you’re alive and have you bleed to death in the same weekend,” she adds, diverting her eyes to the ocean again, catching sight of Bear looking their way. She can’t quite see it as much as she feels it, that adoring gaze falling upon her. “That would be…inconvenient.” 

Her voice is barely above a whisper as she turns her gaze back to Root. 

Root holds her breath, lips still curved into a quiet smile. A response is unnecessary. Shaw isn’t expecting one, and Root has always been the rare exception in understanding the intricacies of that. Some statements require no explanation. Shaw’s is a language Root speaks fluently. 

Their silence is interrupted by an excited Bear leaving the waves in favor of Root. He barrels into her legs, panting. 

“Bear,” Shaw chastises him, seeing the small grimace on Root’s face at the impact.

“Hey there, buddy,” Root laughs, however, watching him sit in front of her, fur dripping, tongue hanging. She slowly manages to bring herself down, offering him a few scratches in return. 

“He’s happy to see you,” Shaw says, watching Bear practically melt underneath Root’s touch. 

She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it’s a feeling she’s quite familiar with herself. She shakes her head a little and smiles to herself. 

Poor dog, he’s hopeless. 

“I’m happy to see him too,” Root says, smiling down at the excited dog. “It’s been a while,” she adds, softly. “I’m sorry, buddy. Hope you’re not mad at me,” she sighs, lowering her weight down on one knee so she’s in less of a painful position to lavish him with what Shaw can only classify as cuddles at this point. 

A few seconds pass in comfortable silence, before Sameen speaks again, this time averting her eyes and choosing to glance back at the ocean instead of the scene unfolding beside her. 

“He’s not mad at you.”

Root looks up. Somewhere in the back of her mind she hears Bear’s faint whine as her hands pause. She watches as Shaw takes a long, steadying breath.

“I mean, look at him,” Shaw lets out a shaky laugh, eyes returning to the dog and deftly avoiding Root. “He’s more love-sick puppy than military badass right now. He doesn’t even care where you’ve been, or how he got here, or what the hell happened in between,” she pauses briefly. “He looks at you like you invented _treats_ or something,” she adds, with another soft laugh. And as if to punctuate her words with more emphasis, Bear instantly licks the palm of Root’s stilled hand. A few seconds pass before Shaw continues, her voice dropping minutely and the smile fading just slightly from her face, “He looks at you like he can’t quite believe you’re here.”

And he’s not the only one, Root observes, but refrains from sharing. 

There will be time for explanations, she knows. They both do. 

There will be time for questioning, blaming and yelling, even. 

Somehow Shaw can’t bring herself to think beyond the words _there will be time_. And for now, that sits comfortably well with her. 

She lowers her eyes, letting them land somewhere on the wet sand between them, and lets her fingers creep up to their familiar resting place behind her ear.

She doesn’t step back, doesn’t retreat, but just stands there, letting her fingers lightly caress the sensitive skin they’ve become accustomed to. 

It’s less with urgency than it is with care that she feels Root stand up and take quiet steps closer. 

“Sameen…” she hears, calm, warm, barely above a whisper.

She chokes out a nervous laugh, head still bowed. 

“It’s funny,” she begins, feeling Root step infinitely closer. “I used to reach for this stupid chip in case whatever was happening wasn’t real, or it couldn’t possibly be. And if it wasn’t, well, then I wanted to wake up,” she pauses, looking up to meet Root’s strikingly silent eyes. “I reached for the chip to get out of wherever I was and just….get back.” _To you_ is how she imagines Root has finished that sentence in her head and she wouldn’t be wrong. But the words remain unsaid. “And now,” she smiles through unshed tears, a rare ache crossing her face that’s only mirrored on Root’s. “I reach for the chip, relieved that nothing happens,” She whispers, as Root lifts her hand up slowly, fingers sliding across Shaw’s forearm before finally encasing her small hand in her own. “I reach for the chip because if this isn’t real then I don’t want to get back to whatever the fuck that was on the other side.”

She feels Root’s hand squeeze hers in a way that’s as delicate as it is firm; an unspoken promise to never let go. She imagines that like this, in the midst of dusk, eyes brimming with a mixture of ache and bewilderment, her oversized sleepwear to hide it all under, she may appear far more vulnerable to Root than she ever has before. 

Part of her hates it. 

Part of her is somewhat beyond caring.

“This is real,” Root whispers, a hair’s breath away, slowly lowering Shaw’s hand away from her ear. 

Somehow, Shaw is vaguely aware that her other hand has found comfort in Root’s clutches also. How, or when, is far too irrelevant right now. The gesture is familiar, not unlike the one Shaw vividly remembers from their reunion in the park. And just as she did then, she is overwhelmed with a barrage of hope and dread.

“I’m here.”

And the moment those words leave Root’s lips, Shaw knows. 

She’s known, since that moment at the carousel, and further more when The Machine sent her here. She knew the second she set foot in that beach house and her eyes landed on the frail woman clinging to the corner of a kitchen counter for balance. She knew. She has known. 

But in this moment, she knows.

She’s spent months clinging to various versions of Root, loving every flawed incarnation and saving every single one of them as adamantly as she would’ve the woman in front of her right now. She’s spent seven thousand simulations kissing lips she never thought she’d kiss again, staring back into the eyes of a woman she so desperately wished were real. 

Seven thousand Roots. 

And yet there is only one.

She brings her hands up, grabbing the side of Root’s face and pulling her down until their lips meet. It is far from the most frantic of kisses, yet lacks some of the tender care of hours past. Their kiss is a cacophony of quiet notes, each conveying a blur of everything they’ve always been. Everything they’ll always be. A simple madness of murmured declarations. A symphony that rings just right, despite making up all the notes as they go.

Shaw can feel Root’s heart hammering against her chest and her hands slide up to wrap around Shaw’s wrists. 

The blame for parting rests solely on the necessity for air, and Shaw takes a few seconds to catch her breath. She fails to relinquish the hold she has on Root’s face. 

“Okay,” Shaw breathes out, feeling Root rest her forehead against hers, lips still hovering so closely. “Maybe I am a little mad at you.” Somewhere behind them, Bear lets out a surprised whine at the words. “Not because I thought you were dead,” she rectifies, looking up at Root, who has now brought a hand up to brush loose strands of hair away from Shaw’s face. “But because of…how it sucked when I thought you were dead,” she finally says, swallowing back the small lump in her throat. “I’m not sure when you….or how…” she stammers and stops herself, and judging by the look on Root’s face, her statement requires no further explanation. “But I’m am pretty sure that’s all your fault, so yeah, maybe I am a little mad at you.”

A soft laugh escapes Root’s lips and she bites it down gently. She allows her eyes to glance at her own fingers, softly tracing patterns on the side of Shaw’s face, before returning her gaze to the small Persian woman before her. 

“Well,” she starts. “I hope you stay mad at me for a really long time, then,” she smiles.

“Oh please,” Shaw finally rolls her eyes, perhaps more out of unacquaintance with what she’s certain she just declared than anything. “You don’t have to be smug about it,” she sighs. Root opens her mouth to say something, recognition dancing across her face at the sight of Shaw’s familiar habits slowly floating back to the surface, and expecting the worst, Shaw cuts her off. “Whatever you’re about to say right now, no.” Root lets out a quiet laugh, as Shaw shakes her head once again. “Come on, let’s get you back inside.”

Shaw takes the smallest step backwards, hand sliding down Root’s bare arm and gently resting somewhere below her elbow. She makes for a gentle pull back towards the house, but Root stops her. 

“Let’s stay out here a while,” Root pleads before Shaw can even start moving. 

“You should be resting,” Shaw counters, but the small smile and lip bite Root gives her is already enough to melt her resolve. Not that she’d admit that out loud. God knows she’s admitted to enough already, she thinks. 

“You’re the one who came out here first. I just followed you.”

“Yeah, because of him,” Shaw vaguely defends, tossing a fake glare in Bear’s direction. “Come on. There’ll be plenty of other moments for you to be annoying about this.” 

And as the words escape her, it finally dawns on her. 

There will be other moments. There will be a lifetime of moments she had thought lost forever less than forty eight hours ago. 

“I know,” Root smiles, practically reading her thoughts. “But I like this moment,” she whispers, turning towards the water again and taking a deep breath.

The next thing she registers is Shaw coming back to meet her by the water, fingers tentatively sliding between hers until they fit perfectly. Root glances down at their now joined hands, and then briefly looks up to smile at Shaw before letting her gaze return to the waves at sea.

“Don’t say anything,” she hears Shaw sigh beside her and a soft laugh escapes her. 

There is undoubtedly an eye-roll involved in there. Root doesn’t need to see it to know it. And that’s perfectly fine with her. 

There will be plenty of those; plenty of moments where Root will exasperate her into oblivion. 

And _fuck it_ , Shaw can’t wait.


End file.
